


Big Teeth, Small Kiss

by capsiclemycaptain, earthseraph, SgtGraves



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, B&B, Black Shuck!Bucky, Happy Ending, M/M, Steve gets sick, Veterinarian!Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 16:34:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16479074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capsiclemycaptain/pseuds/capsiclemycaptain, https://archiveofourown.org/users/earthseraph/pseuds/earthseraph, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SgtGraves/pseuds/SgtGraves
Summary: Bucky Barnes is a veterinarian by day, omen of death that wanders the beach by night. One fateful morning he meets Steve Rogers in all his muscular glory, cuddling a full grown labrador like it’s a yorkie, andFuck. This man cannot die.





	Big Teeth, Small Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> Wow! I'm both very exited for everyone to read this and to finally be finished with it!
> 
> Thank you to [SgtGraves](http://sgt-graves.tumblr.com/) and [Brooklyn-Bisexual](http://brooklyn-bisexual.tumblr.com/) for being amazing artists and wanting to work with me on this!
> 
> Another thanks to [Gina](https://spacebuck.tumblr.com/) for betaing my fic!
> 
> The title of this song comes from Big Teeth, Small Kiss by MSMR!

He was always told as a child to believe in the fae.

Always told to _fear_ the fae.

That gods, goddesses, and other creatures straight out of fairy tales exist.

At first he was skeptical, unsure about the validity of those claims because sometimes parents lie. 

Then the experienced it, the night he met _him_. 

And now he’s sucked so deep into his own fairy tale that he doesn’t know how to get out.

* * *

It feels like something burning in his chest, boiling deep from the inside of his gut and bubbling into his mouth. His bones ache and groan, attempting to resist the transition of 200 bones into 300. At this point, a couple centuries in, he should be used to it. _Should_ being the key word, but in all honesty he’s not. Nothing is normal about a human body ripping to shreds to become a huge dog, unless you’re him of course. For him it’s perfectly normal, penciled into his day even.

No longer resisting the transition, Bucky quite literally throws himself off his bed. He could act like a dignified adult, maybe roll out instead of a body flop to the floor, but he honestly couldn’t care less. The moment his body hit the wooden floor of his bedroom he immediately longs for his bed, the memory foam and fluffy sheets calling him back. He wishes he could listen to their call, curl up in bed and actually sleep through until sunrise, but that’s not part of the deal. It’s almost midnight, almost the witching hour, and the curse stuck to his bones needs him out of the house right this second. 

He doesn’t bother with clothes other than the sweats and tee he has on, just stumbles through his house, and out to his backyard. Ocean mist kisses his face gently, the breeze raising bumps on his arms. The trip down the grass hill to the shoreline is easy, he’s done it enough that he could go down with his eyes closed and not break his neck on a stray stone. 

Eventually, his bare feet touch the soft sand. He quickly pulls off his sleep clothes, not wanting to rip another pair of pants, and relaxes into convulsions ripping through his body. 

The transition isn’t pretty or glamorous like movies portray it. There’s no haze that covers him, or quick blur of painless magic. Skin rips, bones break, hair grows.

Thankfully it doesn’t take long, just moments of agonizing pain until he’s a large three legged dog. He stretches his new muscles out, attempting an awkward downward dog with only the one front leg, and moving on to extending each of his hind legs in a tense but oh so good stretch. He paces for a moment, getting used to the movement before starting his slow trot down the shore line. 

Fog surrounds him, somehow magically attracted to his form, and obscures him from view. He just rolls with it, sometimes taking a moment to chase the waves or a beach rat before continuing on his mission. 

Mission being: Find some poor human, scare the living shit out of them, and accidentally doom them to death. He does this until the sun rises, where he blissfully banishes himself back to his California King and sleeps until the alarm for his day job ruins his slumber.

Sometimes he feels more comfortable as a Shuck. His senses are better, he’s quicker, nobody bothers him because they’re scared of him. All good things, in his opinion. Sure, he’d rather live a life without being a Shuck, but at this point he’s stuck with it so there isn’t much he can do about that.

Bucky feels the hair on the back of his neck rising, and he stops. He picks his ears up, forcing all other sounds of the ocean and its creatures to the back. He can hear feet in the sand, slowly walking towards him. They stop for a moment, a pause, before starting up again. 

With a sigh, Bucky makes his way to the footsteps. In all honesty he hates deciding someone’s fate, making it so in the next couple of months something will happen that kills them. It’s morbid, eerie, and terrible, but people should know this by now. Just avoid the beach from midnight to sunrise and they avoid him as a Shuck, easy as that. But humans are notoriously stupid, he’s a prime example of that. Making a deal with fucking fairies, those dick heads.

Bucky slowly approaches the human, noting that it’s a tall man.

He sees the man stop in his tracks. Looking around him as the fog fills the beach and creeps around his ankles, Bucky can’t help it if what little magic he comes with has a flare for the dramatic. 

Bucky takes slow steps forward, knowing full and well his eyes are the only thing visible in the moonlit night. He can hear the man suck in a sharp breath, his heartbeat beginning to pick up, and does something that completely baffles Bucky.

The man stick his hand in his pocket, and shoves it out in Bucky’s general direction. Curious, Bucky steps forward and almost breaks his dramatic entrance with howling laughter.

An apple.

The man is offering him an apple.

This very unfortunate human thinks he’s a fucking _horse_.

He presses his nose to the apple, brushing the guy’s fingers, and sniffs it. Granny Smith, gross. He nudges the apple away from his face, and completely steps into the human’s range of sight.

Another sharp breath, eyes widening, but his arm stays shoved out with the apple. 

Bucky, per usual, feels bad that he’s cursed this random guy with death. The worst part is, people are usually unaware of what’s about to happen to them. It’s usually the tourists that get cursed, which is why there are no flags raised within the city. He’s kept himself safe blindsiding people who don’t know any better, and even if people came at him with pitchforks and torches he’d still live and they’d all eventually die. 

He huffs out a breath of air, before slowly backing away from the man. He’s never been followed before and doesn’t intend for this to be the first time. Eventually fog covers him, and he can hear the guy quickling running the opposite direction. 

Alone once more, Bucky picks his ears up to try and listen for anything but the feeling human. Thankfully, he’s blissfully alone on the beach once more. Just him, the moon in all her glory, and a couple of skittish critters.

* * *

Getting out of bed is a struggle, as it is every morning. His eyes always snap open ready to take on the day, awakened by muscle memory he supposes, but his bones and muscles yell for him to stay in bed. It’s the same thing no matter what, and something he’s evidently not going to get used to. 

Bucky pushes himself up with the one arm, and gingerly brings his legs over the side of the mattress. It feels like he ran a marathon and got beat up, or got beat up while running a marathon. Either way, it sucks. His feet touch the cold wooden floor, sending shivers up his spine, and he full body stretches. Bones pop, muscles ache, and he lets out one of the loudest yawns to date. If he was recorded he could probably enter Ripley's Believe or Not and win a yawning contest. 

He gives his bed one last longing look, wishing he could just lay in it forever and ignore the world, before forcing himself out of his room. 

He’s got animals to take care of, and frankly they’re more important than his lack of sleep.

* * *

Walking in the back doors of his vet practice is better than any homecoming after a night on the beach. 

He can feel the excitement that radiates from the animals who stayed the night, and feel gratefulness of the ones who have been in pain for some time before coming into his clinic. These feelings, these content animals, have to be the only perks to his curse. Every animal he can help makes it worth it, especially since who he made the deal for is long dead.

Bucky shakes his head, clearing his thoughts, and softly shuts the door behind him.

Some of the dogs start shuffling around their kennels, a couple of them jumping up at down at the gate, while others sit patiently with their tails thumping against the kennel trays. A couple of the cats meow at him, while some couldn’t give less of a shit that he just came in. 

One thing he will never understand is how his curse, that turns him into a horse sized dog, allows him to communicate with cats. They’re an entirely different species, but besides that they have an entirely different outlook on life. Sometimes their thoughts send shivers down his spine and he curses people for a living.

“Hey Butterball,” he grins at one of the pups, an older corgi, “how’re you feeling today?”

Butterball sticks his nose against the kennel and licks Bucky’s fingers. 

“I know you just ate.” Bucky replies, “You’re here because you ate a little too much, remember that.”

He can feel the eye roll from the corgi, before Butterball goes back to his bed. 

“Petunia,” he nods to the hairless Chihuahua, “how’s the incision?” She just got spayed and stayed overnight for observation. Bucky snorts at the gratefulness that rolls off of her, completely done after having litter of smaller hairless gremlins. 

Bucky continues down the line, making sure to stop by each and every pet before leaving the kennel area. Nobody required extra meds or bandages this morning, and all of them were sufficiently full and content from their early morning walk. 

“How’re we doing this morning?” He asks, walking through the back offices. 

“There’s two guys out in the waiting room with a lethargic dog,” America tells him, passing him the patient’s clipboard, “I don’t think it’s anything too serious.”

He looks over the chart, eyebrows raising at the name _Lucky the Pizza Dog_ , “Go ahead and take them to an exam room, I’ll be there in a few.”

She nods, pushing herself away from her desk and stretches. Her paw print scrubs are rainbow today he notes, “By the way, how’d you do on that test?” America is here on an internship from the states, wanting to go into equine studies but settling with dog and cats for the time being.

America grins, “Aced that shit!”

“Hell yeah!” He raises his hand for a high five and she obliges, slapping his hand as hard as she can.

Bucky rolls his eyes, “You’re going to break this arm and then I’ll be out of hands for you to high-five.”

She sticks her tongue out at him, walking out of the office, “I’ll take my chances.”

He rolls his eyes, turning around to go into his own office. The place looks like a library exploded, papers and books covering every surface with a nice hoard of coffee cups. With a shrug of his shoulder he ditches his bag on the floor next to one of many stacks of books, and opts for his lab coat instead. 

When he first became a veterinarian many moons ago, he thought the lab coat was the coolest part of the job. Now though, the novelty has worn off, and he wears the thing more as a formality. His life would be easier if lab coats weren’t white but instead a coffee brown, or maybe a ketchup red, or just one of the colors of a food he commonly spills on himself. Not white, the hardest color on earth to keep clean. 

Lab coat on, Bucky makes his way to the exam room. He picks up the chart again from where it rests in the cubby outside of the room and does another read through. Five year old labrador, also a service dog, fairly active, suddenly down and unwilling to move. He has a hunch as to why the dog is suddenly lethargic, if the name tells him anything, but he won’t know anything until he’s in the room. 

He knocks twice on the door, letting them know he’s coming in, and places his hand on the doorknob. Something strikes him in the stomach, making him pause for a moment. It’s a literal gut feeling, and it’s not coming from the dog inside. He doesn’t know what it is, if it’s just his digestive system or if it’s _something_ , but he has to push it aside for the time being. He has a patient, he can’t get caught up in his own business when there’s a creature in that room that needs his help. 

He opens the door with a smile on his face, and almost dies right then and there.

One of the men, one of this dog’s owners, is the man he cursed to death last night. He doesn’t remember his face or body, but he can feel when he’s in the presence of someone who has a time limit on the rest of their life. Six months, to be exact. He’s never been face to face with someone he cursed before, across the store aisle? Sure, but with only feet between them? Never.

Bucky doesn’t falter though, “I’m Doctor Barnes,” he grins, “I’ll be treating Lucky today.”

“Nice to meet you,” The guy that’s about to die but doesn’t know it says, sticking his hand out.

Bucky shakes it, “Are you uh,” he looks back down at the clipboard, “Clint Barton?”

“No,” the man says, dropping the handshake and motioning with his head to the other blond next to him, “that’s Clint.”

“Please help my dog,” Clint says, pushing past Not Clint to grab Bucky’s hand with two of his own, “Lucky’s never acted like this before and he _cannot die_.”

Bucky’s had enough years of practice to not burst out laughing at Clint. He knows people get over emotional and down right irrational about their pets, but it still takes every bone in his body to not even crack a smile.

“Don’t worry Mister Barton,” Bucky says, casually slipping his hand from between Clint’s, “I’ll take good care of Lucky.”

He takes a step away from the two men and goes over to Lucky who looks directly into his eyes. He gives the dog a small smile before unwrapping his stethoscope from his neck and pressing it to Lucky’s chest. 

Bucky listen to Lucky’s heart for a moment before switching over to listen to what Lucky has to say. He moves the stethoscope every couple of moments, keeping up the act, and pulls away when he has a verdict. 

“What’s Lucky’s diet like?” Bucky asks, looking from Clint to Not Clint who’s concentrating deeply on some spot behind Bucky. 

_Fuck,_ Bucky thinks to himself, looking at the way Not Clints muscles strain against his henley and how pretty those blue eyes are, _he’s hot and he’s going to die_. 

“Uh,” Clint begins, breaking Bucky away from his lament over Not Clint’s body, “some kibble, table food, he’s really into pizza ya’ know.”

Bucky hums, and feels around Lucky’s stomach, sighing when the dog whines softly.

“Good news is Lucky isn’t dying,” Bucky begins, wrapping his stethoscope back around his neck, “bad news is you need to change his diet or he will be.”

Clint’s face switches from elated to upset and back, “Change his diet?”

“Yep,” Bucky nods, pulling a pen and notepad out of his pocket, “put him on a mix of wet and dry food, but no other table food. I can recommend a few brands if you’d like.” He neatly writes out the names of kibble he himself has eaten and enjoyed, before ripping the page off and handing it to Clint, “Can I do anything else for you today?”

Clint stares at the sheet of paper, not saying anything.

“No,” Not Clint, pipes in, “Lucky’s up to date on everything else.”

“Good,” Bucky smiles, clicking his pen once, “well I’d like to see Lucky again in a couple of weeks, you can schedule an appointment with Valkyrie on your way out.”

With one last polite nod, and a quick look over at Not Clint, Bucky exits the room. He leans against the hallway wall for a moment, and takes in a deep breath. 

He’s never seen someone he doomed to death. 

He’s never seen someone he doomed to death, but _man_ does he want to see Not Clint again.

* * *

“By chance did you get the name of the taller blond guy?” Bucky asks Valkyrie, trying to be as casual as possible, filling out the after appointment workup next to her. 

She spins around slowly on her rolly chair, arching an eyebrow, “Why do you need it?”

He looks up from the chart, raising an eyebrow back, “Do you know it?”

Valkyrie purses her lips and spins back around, staring out at the empty waiting room, “If you don’t tell me why you want it then you don’t need it.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, setting the pen down, “He was attractive, jeez,” he looks over at the self satisfied smirk on her face, “I am your boss, you know that right?” 

Despite him being her boss, Valkyrie is a lesser god. Not well known, but definitely higher up on the mythical creature food chain than he is.

The smirk doesn’t leave, “I heard the other blond call him Steve.”

“Steve?” Bucky repeats, “That’s it?”

Valkyrie snorts, “Dumb Americans right?”

Bucky opens his mouth to mention that hey, _he’s_ one of those dumb Americans, when he’s cut off by the feeling of superiority and cockiness rolls over him.

“Ugh,” Bucky groans, rubbing his temples with his hand, “Hela’s here.”

Valkyrie’s face morphs to match his feelings: scrunched up like she smelled something bad and can’t escape it.

With a gust of air, the front door to the clinic flies open. Hela steps in, taking completely unnecessary sunglasses off her head. Her tea cup, but oh so annoying, husky marches in behind her and lets out a small growl. 

“Hela,” Bucky greets, pushing himself up from his chair, “Fenris needs to be on a leash if you want to bring him here.”

“Fenris is above you,” she says, giving him a once over, “you turn into a dog on the curse of a fairy, Fenris was by my side through the expansion of Asgard and the nine realms.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, Hela putting him down doesn’t bother him as much as it used to, “Well Fenris can’t clip his own nails, and we don’t want them to get ingrown, now do we?” He raises an eyebrow, wishing for his moment only that he had another arm to cross over his chest.

She huffs, and with the wave of her hand a leather leash is connected to Fenris’ spiked collar. 

Bucky sighs, and turns to Valkyrie, “Play nice. Sign her in.”

He doesn’t even bother making Hela wait and instead opens the door connecting the waiting room to the rest of the clinic, “First room on the right, you know the drill.” He turns on his heel, also not bothering to wait for her as he goes and gets a fresh set of nail clippers. 

“How’s Fenris been?” Bucky asks, going through the standard vet small talk. 

Hela rolls her eyes, “Fenris does not get sick like normal dogs do, you know this.”

Bucky clips the first nail, Fenris growls at him in all of his tiny might and Bucky does everything to not sticks his tongue out. He’s grateful for the moment that Hela decided to do him the favor of holding Fenris’ paw rather than expecting some one armed wonder from him, “It’s small talk Hela, get with the times.”

“I have no reason for small talk.”

It’s Bucky’s turn to roll his eyes as he finishes the first paw, “How are your brothers?”

Hela sighs, giving in, “Thor is off doing who knows what, and Loki is enjoying tourist season in Vegas.”

Bucky grins, imagining Loki living it up with people drunk on both alcohol and the aura that Vegas gives off, “I’d like an ounce of his enjoyment for drunk people.”

Hela makes a face, “Drunk people ruin my day.”

“Hela,” Bucky sighs, pausing to look up at her, “you ruin plenty of people’s days and you don’t have to be drunk.”

Fenris snarls, lips raised above his bared teeth. Bucky gives in this time, sticking his tongue out to the little dog. 

Hela just grins back at him, her lips curled up and coal framed eyes crinkling at the corners, “I know.”

He makes sure she doesn’t notice the chills he gets, and goes back to clipping Fenris’ tiny, genetically engineered nails. 

Hela and him are almost the same entity. She’s the goddess of death, he’s the bringer of death, but they’re oh so different. Hela _enjoys_ what she does down to the very core of her being, she likes striking fear in people and would love being cursed to end someone’s life for the rest of eternity. Bucky, on the other hand, would rather be six feet under than cursing innocent people who just wanted to go out for a walk on the beach. 

Sometimes he wishes Hela went through his same plight. He wishes she hated what she did just as much as he does just so he could have a friend in all this. But then that wish subsides, and instead he’s glad that she doesn’t have to go through the same torture that he does. 

“All done,” Bucky says, pulling the clippers away from the last nail, “he should be good for couple weeks.”

Hela lifts Fenris up into her arms, “He thanks you.”

Fenris growls at him, spit flying from his mouth onto Bucky’s cheek.

“Just doing my job,” Bucky says, nodding, “Valkyrie will check you out in front.”

Hela, not one for any sort of pleasantries or politeness, teleports herself out of the room, leaving black scuff marks on the floor.

He rolls his eyes at the dramatic exit, and opens the door like a normal person would. 

“Don’t have to be so dramatic, Hela,” he yells down the hallway, getting cackles in return. 

Bucky rolls his eyes, “Damn gods, and their damn flair for the dramatic.”

* * *

Today is a great day, Bucky decides.

He doesn’t know what he did to deserve this, but the higher powers decided he should be blessed with having a sentient Greek statue in his clinic. He pushes the fact that soon this guy will be six feet under or cremated to the back of his head, and attempts to focus both on his patient and the patient’s parent.

“I just got her,” Steve continues, rambling at this point, “they said she was healthy at the shelter, but she doesn’t want to leave my room or play with Lucky.”

Bucky blinks, “Do you know her history?” He can feel that she’s just a little shy, didn’t have the best puppyhood, but genuinely likes Steve.

Steve nods, crossing his arms over his chest, “They said she came from a home with too many dogs and not enough time for all of them.”

Bucky hums, petting the dog behind her ears. She’s a Pomeranian mix, very fluffy, with a little rat snout, “I think Miss. Fitzgerald just needs to warm up to you, she doesn’t have any physical illnesses, but she did come from a not so great home.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks, uncrossing his arms to he can pet Ella as well, “So she’s not sick?”

He can hear the concern dripping from Steve’s voice and has to hold back his heart melting in his chest, “Not sick, just shy. Do you have any roommates?” _Partner? Spouse?_ Bucky does not ask, but definitely wants to.

Steve snorts, “Do I ever.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow.

“I co-own that bed and breakfast near the coast, and right now there’s five people staying there along with myself and the two other owners,” Steve explains, counting off the people with his fingers, “but she has my room to herself, and I keep the door open in case she does want to wonder out.”

He notes Steve not mentioning a partner of any sort and files that away for later, “Keep doing what you’re doing,” he says smiling up at Steve, “she just needs to get comfortable with her surroundings.”

Steve nods, returning the smile before picking up Ella. She licks his face, and Steve’s smile morphs into something a bit dopier, “Thanks doc, I think I’m just a little paranoid with her.”

“That’s normal for new dog parents,” Bucky assures, he’s had people come after hours concerned because their dog was doing something absolutely normal, “like I said, give her space and time and she’ll come out of her shell.”

Bucky opens the door to the hallway, letting Steve step out first, “Bring her back in a couple weeks for a check up and some flea treatment, but other than that she’s in perfect health.”

Steve stops in front of Bucky, holding Ella against his chest like she’s his most prized possession, “Thanks again, I guess I’ll see you around.”

Bucky grins, finally letting some flirtiness seep into his voice, “I’ll be counting on it.”

He doesn’t know if he imagines the slight blush or Steve biting his bottom lip, but he definitely doesn’t imagine the way Steve looks him up and down or the way he takes a step backward before turning around and making his way to check out. 

The grin on his face stays, this time directed at himself, and he lets the office door close behind him. 

“Who was that?” An accented voice comes from behind him and Bucky almost has a heart attack.

He clutches his chest for a moment, taking a breath, and turns around, “If I could die that would have killed me.”

Loki rolls his eyes, pushing himself away from the wall, “Don’t be dramatic.”

“As if that isn’t something you’re the god of,” Bucky snorts, turning on his heel to continue back down the hallway.

“Drama isn’t something I’m a god of, though that would be fun.”

Bucky keeps walking, knowing by the click of Loki’s shoes that he’s following him, “How was Vegas?”

“Wonderful,” he can hear the murderous grin in Loki’s voice, “not a sober soul in sight at the hotel I took residence at.”

Bucky snorts, and pushes open his office door with his shoulder, “Good for you, bad for the cleaning staff.”

Loki sits down in the chair across from Bucky’s desk in a very catlike manner, as if he’s going to push a stack of papers off Bucky’s desk in a moment, “Don’t worry I tipped them well.” 

Bucky hums in response, pushing his mouse around his desk until the computer screen lights up. He ignores the fact that Loki just pulled out a dagger and is mindlessly throwing it up and down in his hand, for doing some boring administrative work.

He gets a couple minutes of silence, and a few lines of text in before Loki speaks again.

“So who was that?”

Bucky looks past his laptop screen at Loki, “A patient.”

Loki grins, “That’s not the way you talk with, or look at all your patients.”

“You stalking me now?” He says instead, not wanting to incriminate himself.

“I merely happened to pop in at the right time.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, “Well he was a patient, and that’s the end of it.”

Loki raises a carefully manicured eyebrow, “Are you positive?”

He ignores the slight flush that tints his cheeks, “I’m not about to get into a relationship with a human.” He leaves out the fact that this human is one of the many that he’s cursed.

“Why?” Loki grins, catching the dagger by the tip of its blade between his fingers, “I do it all the time, their mortality is quite fun.”

“That’s you, not me.” He turns back to the computer screen, slowly poking the keys with his index finger because he can’t be bothered with doing much more right now.

“As long as you don’t get invested it won’t be a problem,” Loki goes on, “because they like to die, and in your case you may just accidentally curse them.”

Bucky flicks his eyes to Loki, “Not funny,” It’s a little too close to his current situation for the joke, any other time he would have snorted and moved on. But now, when he knows there’s an innocent guy out there expecting a long life with his new puppy? He’s feeling a little too raw to joke about other people’s death.

Loki gets up from the chair, “Not having any fun while being immortal takes the fun out of immortality.”

“I have fun,” Bucky says, his voice pitching in defense, “I have lots of fun.”

Loki snorts, stabbing the dagger into the corner of Bucky’s desk, “Whatever helps you sleep at night.” There’s a blur of green, probably another set of scuff marks on the floor, and Loki’s gone. 

He stares at the corner of his desk where there’s another dagger stabbed into the corner. He leans over stacks of papers, and pulls the knife out, grateful that Loki at least stabs the same place each time. He opens the bottom drawer of his desk, wincing at the loud clanking sound that comes from the movement, and tosses the dagger in to exist among the rest of them.

At this moment, Bucky’s either very prepared to stab someone or only slightly prepared to run a town-wide knife throwing competition. He pushes the drawer closed and sighs, leaning back in his seat, what in God’s name is he going to do about one Steve Rogers?

* * *

Something in the air made Bucky crave coffee. He doesn’t usually crave it since he’s not too keen on the bitterness, but today his taste buds needed it. 

“Hey, America,” Bucky says, phone wedged between his shoulder and cheek as he locks his front door, “I’m going to be late today.”

“No problem, Buck!” She says into the phone, too excited for eight in the morning.

He doesn’t reply, just lets the phone drop off his shoulder onto the floor of his porch. Bucky stares at it for a moment before sighing and picking it up, “Old trusty, I’d never leave you.” he slips the Nokia brick into his pocket, and continues on down the porch. 

Lucky for him, the walk to the cafe isn’t far. Living in a small coast side town has some benefits, one being everything is within walking distance from each other. The down side is torrential weather, and that the only Asian food place skimps on the servings. Either way, it means he doesn’t have to drive everywhere and he knows when he needs to start telling his employees at the vet to start scaring people about going to the beach after midnight. 

The cafe is quiet when he goes in. The morning rush just passed, instead of people who would kill for their coffee it’s people who are actually willing to sit and enjoy it. He orders his drink, shoving the rest of his change into the tip jar, and patiently waits next to the counter. 

He’s staring off into the distance, thinking about whether Mister Whiskers can go home today or not, when someone taps him on the shoulder. By reflex he jumps, turning around ready to yell at Loki for scaring him again, when he notices the blonde hair and blue eyes.

“I didn’t mean to scare you!” Steve says, quickly pulling his hand away from Bucky’s shoulder, “Just wanted to say hi.”

Bucky clears his throat, trying to get his heart back to a normal pace, “It’s fine, I just have a friend that likes to scare me.” He squints his eyes, scanning the room to look for a head of greasy looking hair, before going back to Steve, “It’s fine.”

Steve smiles, wide and toothy, “Ella Fitzgerald is doing much better.”

It takes Bucky a moment to realize Steve’s talking about his dog and not the long dead singer, “That’s good, is she warming up to you?”

“Yeah,” Steve moves so he’s standing beside Bucky rather than in front of him, “after some belly rubs and a couple treats by everyone in the b&b she’s hardly ever in my room.”

Bucky doesn’t understand why anyone would ever want to leave Steve’s room, but then he remembers Ella’s a dog. And dogs like validation of others and the comfiest place to lay, which he knows by personal experience. 

“Good,” Bucky smiles back at Steve, noticing that Steve is just a hair taller than him, “just keep up the rubs and she’ll keep loving you.” He doubts there’s a person on this planet that could _not_ love Steve.

Damn his crush is strong.

“That’s the hope.” Steve chuckles.

“For Bucky.” The barista says, placing a paper cup on the counter with a nod.

Bucky smiles at her and takes the cup. He knows he could just walk out the door with a polite goodbye to Steve, and go on his merry way, but he can’t. He’s got a crush on Steve Rogers and he wants to entertain it. Cup in hand, he goes back and stands next to Steve, taking a sip.

“So,” Steve says slowly, rocking on his heels, “what’s your order?”

Bucky swallows the sip, licking his lips, “Milk with coffee.”

Steve raises an eyebrow, “Milk with coffee?”

“Yeah, a whole lotta hot milk and then some coffee.”

The look of disgust on Steve’s face makes Bucky snort, “Don’t judge, it tastes great. Unlike some people I like to enjoy what I drink.”

“Milk being the dominant part of anything makes it un-enjoyable,” Steve says, nose still scrunched.

“Well then how do you take your coffee?” Bucky asks, mirroring Steve’s eyebrow raise from earlier.

“Black, not a drop of milk or creamer or anything of the sort in sight.”

Bucky scrunches his own nose up, ”Bitter bean juice.”

“Bitter bean juice,” Steve agrees, grinning. 

He doesn’t know how to continue the conversation, and thankfully doesn’t have to. The barista sets Steve’s coffee down on the counter, calling his name, and Steve goes over. From where Bucky stands he has a nice view of Steve’s butt, and Bucky could almost sigh dreamily into his coffee.

Until he remembers Steve is a human. A human who is going to die soon because Bucky cursed him. 

For a moment he wonders if there’s anything in the fine print of the agreement he made with those fairies that say anything about alerting someone of their nearing death. He’s never had to worry about this since he’s never gotten to know someone he cursed, but now he kinda knows Steve and definitely has a crush on him. If he told Steve he was going to die it would be out of his own selfish need, rather than the goodness of his heart. Besides, there’s a chance Steve wouldn’t believe him and if he did Bucky would have to explain the whole thing which would probably make Steve hate him. 

With that, he decides to keep it to himself. Steve and his relationship, whatever it turns out to be, is going to stay fun and free from attachment. He’s not about to tether himself to a guy that’s going to die, and he’s not going to tether the guy to his killer. Bucky nods to himself, mentally agreeing to his whole plan. 

“Well,” Steve says, coming back in hand, “this was supposed to only be a fifteen minute break so I need to head back.”

“To the b&b?” Bucky asks, hoping Steve doesn’t notice the ‘Internal Conflict’ written across his face.

“Yeah,” Steve sighs, “we should do this again.”

“Talk while waiting for coffee?” Bucky grins, knowing he’s both being a little flirty and a little shit.

Steve chuckles, “How about minus the waiting for coffee part?”

Bucky can’t help but get lost in the twinkle of Steve’s eyes. It takes him a moment, after some grinning and finding his way back, before nodding, “That sounds nice.”

This time it’s Steve’s turn to smile, and from the long pause get lost in something in Bucky’s eyes, “If you come by the b&b I can give you the tour, and you can see Ella.”

“I’d like that,” Bucky says, still smiling, “more to see Ella than anyone else, but you know.” He takes a sip of his drink to try and tone down his smile, but he’s too late. Steve’s already grinning back, wider than before because he knows Bucky’s just being coy.

“Of course, I don’t know who else you’d go visit other than Ella.” 

They both grin at each other for a moment. Unaware of their surroundings, not caring they’re in the middle of a coffee shop very publicly flirting with each other. 

The moment breaks when Steve takes a step back, raising his cup in goodbye, “Well I need to get back, see you around.”

“See you around,” Bucky agrees, watching Steve leave with a dopey smile still on his face. 

He waits until he sees Steve cross the street before leaving the cafe himself. Thankfully the walk to the office isn’t long, just enough time to dopily smile into his coffee cup and think about the way the corners of Steve’s eyes crinkle when he smiles.

* * *

The beach is nice in the morning, so much nicer than it is when he’s on his nightly mission to doom people. He decided instead of going back home and crawling into his oh so soft bed, that he’d take a walk down the shoreline. Besides, it’s Sunday and the clinic is closed for appointments, with only him going in to check the animals that stayed over night.

He knows this path like the back of his hand. Nothing’s more familiar than the way the hills flow down into sand, or where the water pools into dips in the earth. He could tell anyone that asked the best place to sunbathe, or how far they have to go to get away from tourists during peak season. 

This beach is both the best place in the world, and the worst. It brings him so much joy to hear the seagulls and feel the sand between his human toes, but brings him so much pain knowing that when he’s here at night someone is going to be cursed to die. It’s bittersweet, but it’s been his life for so long he doesn’t know anything other than it.

Bucky keeps a slow pace, shoes in hand and not a care in his mind. He’s been lucky the past few days, nobody’s been on the beach when he does his trot which means nobody’s going to die. He wishes that were the case with Steve.

Steve who likes his coffee bitter unlike his soul. Who named his dog after a singer from the 40s and treats her like royalty. Steve who never talks about his past and doesn’t mind that Bucky omits that from their conversation as well. Steve with the brightest blue eyes and hair that flops perfectly atop his head. Steve who Bucky has the biggest crush on and doesn’t know what to do about it.

They’ve been talking for weeks, keeping everything friendly, and Bucky wants more. He shouldn’t, he’s still Ella’s vet and he’s still the one that’s going to cause Steve pain later, but he does. 

At first it was lust over Steve’s body, and that he was fine with. He wanted nothing more than sex with the guy and knew it was impossible to get. Then they started talking, and flirting, and sharing stories over coffee, and Bucky pushed his want for sex to the back burner and pulled his want for a date forward.

The only thing that’s holding him back is the fact that Steve’s going to die because of him, but there’s a little mental asterisk to that clause. If Steve asks him out first, or makes the first move, then he’s allowed to accept and move forward. He’ll cross the bridge that he’s the cause of Steve’s further illness later and exist in what he thinks will be a very happy place dating Steve. Until then, he has to wait.

Bucky sighs, annoyed with himself because he just went on another tangent about Steve and their future relationship. He attempts to go back to walking and thinking about nothing, trying to focus on the sand between his toes and the water that rushes around his ankles, but then he sees a familiar flop of blonde hair. 

A very fluffy puppy, and a dark skinned man with the most dazzling smile Bucky’s ever seen. 

He’s about to turn around or throw himself in the water to hide from the person that embodies all his fluttering emotions, when Steve waves at him. 

Bucky pretends to not know who it is, bringing his hand up to shield his eyes from the sun, before waving back.

“Hey,” Steve calls, “fancy to see you here.”

He mentally sighs, because Steve just does not know how often he’s on his beach.

“Sam,” Steve goes on, motioning to the grinning man beside him, “this is Bucky. Bucky, Sam.”

Bucky’s eyes widen, and he shoves his shoes between his thighs to hold, sticking out his hand to Sam, “I’ve heard so much about you, nice to meet you.” Steve’s told him stories about Sam, and has waxed poetry about how much respect he has for him. Bucky doesn’t know that Steve has any family, but he knows if he needs to impress one person it’s going to be Sam.

Sam shakes his hand, “I can say the same thing, is your name really Bucky?”

“Sam!” Steve hisses, slapping Sam on the chest, “Bucky, don’t listen to him, it’s too early for his brain.”

Bucky just chuckles and shakes his head, taking his hand away from Sam’s, “No, it’s fine, and no my name isn’t really Bucky. It’s James Buchanan Barnes, the Buchanan is where Bucky comes from.” He hopes they don’t go home and Google his name, but he doubts they’d think any old records with that name were actually him. If he was good at one thing throughout his life it was avoiding showing up in pictures.

Sam nods, like it all makes sense now, “A man of many names.”

“Indeed,” Bucky grins, “almost got initials with three ‘b’s but I wasn’t that lucky.”

Sam laughs, teeth gleaming and white, “So what are you doing out on the beach this early?”

Bucky’s stomach drops at the question, but he makes sure to keep the grin on his lips as he motions behind him, “I live down that way and it’s my only day off, figured I get a walk in before the beach gets congested.”

“Tourists?” Steve asks, looking like he’d do anything for Bucky and Sam to not conversate. 

“Yeah, and just the typical residents. It’s a pretty day, most people want to get in on those before winter rolls in.” He takes his shoes from between his thighs and into his hands, “how about yourselves?”

“Same,” Steve answers quickly, “and we have a lot to do at the b&b.”

Sam rolls his eyes, “That’s not the reason were out here,” he look over at Bucky, taking a step closer like he’s going to share a secret, “Steve told me the other night--”

“Sam,” Steve sighs, “ _really?_ ”

Sam seems to ignore Steve and continues talking, “He told me the other night that he saw some huge dog thing out here on the beach.”

Bucky’s stomach completely drops. He feels the hairs on the back of his neck rise, and his fight or flight instinct kicking in.

“I always heard the rumors about this dog that kills people, and I let my customers know not to walk the beach past midnight, but nobody I knew had actually seen the thing,”

He’s glad for that, because if someone Sam knew had seen him before Steve that meant they’d probably be dead by now.

“And so I had to see it for myself.”

“Did you?” Bucky asks, “I always heard about it too but never went to go find the thing.” He hopes they don’t notice how hard he’s clenching the shoes in his hand, and sum up the sweat on his brow to the sun shining down on him. 

“Nah,” Sam shakes his head, “I guess we’ll have to see if Steve dies to know if he’s telling the truth.”

Steve laughs, “I’m not gonna’ die Sam, I probably just saw a really big dog and got drawn into my own paranoia.”

“That’s a possibility,” Bucky nods, upset that Steve doesn’t know what’s creeping in on him, “there’s a couple big strays that run around the beach.” He hates that he brought death to Steve, but he doesn’t know how to reverse it. If he did nobody would have to die because of him.

“Maybe next time we’ll see it,” Sam sighs, lifting his arms to stretch, “we should be getting back to the b&b, though, many mouths to feed this morning.”

Bucky gives Sam a polite smile, “See you around.”

“Likewise,” Sam says, turning to Steve with a grin, “I’m going ahead, you take your time.”

Steve rolls his eyes again, and blushes. It’s a delicate pink across his nose and cheeks, Bucky loves it.

“Sam’s nice,” he says, breaking the ice and probably taking Steve out of his misery.

“Sam’s nice _sometimes_ ,” Steve corrects, “other times he’s a little shit.”

Bucky snorts, “Don’t we all have a friend like that?”

“I have a couple I can think of,” Steve agrees, “so tomorrow’s pizza night at the b&b.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, “Pizza night?”

“Yeah,” Steve continues, bringing a hand up to nervously scratch the back of his head, “Sam makes a really good dough and everyone at the b&b brings toppings, you should come.”

Bucky’s heart flutters, at the thought of spending a few hours with Steve, his mouth also waters at the thought of homemade pizza, “I’ll be there, call my office and leave me the details?”

Steve’s grin is wide and bright, and the blush is still across his cheeks, “Yeah, I will, and you can see Ella again.”

Hearing her name, Ella wags her tail and lets her tongue hang from her open mouth.

“Don’t you know I’m only going for Ella?” Bucky jokes, giving Steve a toned down yet flirty grin.

“Of course,” Steve nods, “how could I forget?”

They both stand still with grins on their faces. He can still hear the sound of the ocean, and feel the grains of sand beneath his feet, but all he can think about is how blue Steve’s eyes are. It reminds him of the moment they had at the cafe, they moment they have every time before they have to leave each other, and it always makes his heart flutter. Rather than wanting to avert his glance, or stare right above Steve’s eyes to make Steve think he’s looking at him directly, he wants to fall into the pool of blue and never look back. 

“I gotta go,” Steve says softly, not looking away, not speaking louder than the ocean waves.

Bucky nods, “Okay.” 

He blinks when Steve takes a step back, and eventually turns on his heel to catch up with Sam, Ella running happily in front of him. He’s about to berate himself for his crush on Steve, a man that’s about to die, but he cuts that thought off before it can further.

Instead, Bucky turns around, small smile on his face, and starts walking back to his house. Tomorrow he’s got a date with Steve, kind of. It’s pizza and going to the B&B. A date.

* * *

Bucky makes sure to set an alarm on his phone that sounds like someone's calling him, just in case he accidentally stays too long at Steve’s and his body decides it’s time for him to become a dog. 

He doesn’t know what to expect, so he dresses in a dark pair of jeans and an ironed button down. There’s nothing worse, he thinks, than going to a party either under or over dressed. Over dressed makes him feel stuffy, while under makes him want to go home and change. 

He tries to reason with himself that it’s just pizza at the b&b, and he could probably show up in a t-shirt and be fine, but Steve’s going to be there. His best foot needs to be put forward when it comes to Steve, at least right now when they’re in the initial crushing stage. Besides, if he’s going to be the last person Steve dates before he dies he’d at least like to look half decent. 

He takes a cab to the b&b, deciding against the sweat that comes from walking, and allows himself to breathe. It’s just Steve and some friends, he doesn’t need to be worried. 

The cab comes to a stop at the b&b, the house is large and sits atop a hill. He pays and tips the driver, getting out of the car with a deep breath. He makes sure he has his phone, wallet, and bottle of wine, before making his way up the hill.

Bucky knocks on the door to the b&b, the bag carrying a bottle of wine swinging dangerously at the wood. He can hear music playing and the sound of someone laughing through the door. For a moment he’s worried his knock was too soft, and considered looking for a doorbell, when the door opens.

“Hi,” Steve says, slightly breathless. He’s dressed in a blue t-shirt, and a pair of worn jeans that look so soft Bucky wants to sleep in them. There’s what looks like pizza sauce on his chin, and flour on his stomach, it’s endearing. 

Bucky smiles back, holding out bag in his hand, “I brought classy booze.”

Steve snorts, taking the bag, “Nothing goes better with pizza than classy booze.” He takes a step to the side, motioning Bucky in, “There’s a lot of pizzaing going on, don’t be shy to throw your order out to Sam.”

Bucky inhales deeply as he walks through the door. The scent of pizza sauce and dough float through the air, filling his lungs with mouth watering scents, “I’m not shy when it comes to food.”

“Good,” Steve closes the door behind him, “cause we made a lot of dough and need hungry mouths to eat it.”

The b&b is warm and homey with honey wood accents, and plush carpets lining the floors. Pictures and framed pieces of art line the walls, Bucky isn’t sure if they all have a meaning but either way they feel right hanging there. From the outside, and what he can see on the inside, the place is large. Definitely two stories, possibly more, with wide rooms. 

He can see why people would come here. Rather than feeling cookie cutter at home, or like nothing can be touched, it feels like taking a nap in front of the fire place can be done without judgement or if a drink got spilled on accident there wouldn’t be terrible repercussions. It’s a welcoming place, something Sam and Steve obviously worked hard on perfecting. 

Bucky follows Steve into the kitchen where Sam is grilling pizza dough on the stove, and a small group of three people sit around the bar. He recognizes Clint immediately, not only from the dog sitting at his feet, but from the bird’s nest hair. Next to him is a woman with short red hair, and next to her a woman with wavy blonde hair. 

“Bucky!” Sam yells, waving at him with his spatula, “You ready for some pizza?”

Bucky grins, patting his stomach, “I’m _always_ ready for pizza.”

“Good, cause I made too much thinking all the b&b tenants were coming.”

“Hey everyone,” Steve says when they get to the bar, “this is Bucky.”

Bucky waves, giving everyone a small smile, “Hi, nice to meet you.”

“Hey doc!” Clint yells, mouth full of pizza, “Lucky’s been doing better after you said to stop giving him table food.”

Lucky whines, as if knowing they’re talking about him. Bucky can feel how much Lucky wants to jump on the table and steal a slice, knowing he’d get away with it, but at the same time he wants to make Clint happy with him by not eating bad food.

Bucky pats his thigh, calling Lucky over, and smiling at the dog when he does. He scratches behind Lucky’s ears, looking over at Clint, “He looks a lot better than when I first saw him.” He can feel from the dog himself that he’s much better than before, even if he misses the taste of pizza and chips. 

“You’re the vet that helped Lucky?” The woman with blonde hair asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“I just gave advice and Clint obviously took it.” Bucky says with a shrug, still petting Lucky.

She looks him up and down before smiling and stretching her hand out, “Sharon.”

He takes her hand and shakes it, “Don’t want to know what the reaction would have been if Lucky didn’t get better.”

Sharon chuckles, taking her hand back, “Not pleasant is all I have to say about that.”

“Agreed,” the red head says, “if you mess with Lucky you mess with us.”

“And we’re all ex-military of some sort,” Sam pipes in, piling cheese on a crust.

“So we know how to kill you _and_ successfully hide the body.” Clint nods, taking another bite.

Bucky raises his hand, “I come in peace and will not hurt Lucky.”

“Don't listen to them,” Steve snorts, “anyone can successfully hide a body near the ocean.”

Bucky thinks if he were any other person or just a mortal human, he’d be concerned about the playful threats. But he’s neither mortal nor concerned at this point, he can’t be killed which he knows that for a fact. They can go ahead and throw him in the ocean, he’ll just somehow come right out because that’s how powerful fairy magic is.

“Everyone’s confidence in my veterinarian skills is astounding,” Bucky mutters, finally taking a seat on one of the bar stools, “not like i've been practising it for years or anything.”

Sam snorts, sliding him a plate of cheese pizza, “Didn’t know what you liked.”

He takes the plate, knowing full and well not to bite into the literally piping hot slice, “Sometimes it’s the simple pleasures that mean the most.”

Everyone laughs, and he’s relieved nobody’s actually ready to kill him for treating Lucky. He blows on the slice before picking it up and biting into it, giving Sam a thumbs up instead of talking because the pizza’s too good for stopping. 

Steve boosts himself up on the bar stool next to Bucky’s, their knees touching under the table, and Bucky smiles into his slice. He doesn’t think anything could make tonight better.

* * *

“We should do this again,” Bucky says, turning to Steve. They’re on the porch, the night coming to an end, both of them full of wine and pizza. 

“Yeah,” Steve nods, rocking back on his heels, “but how about minus all the friends?”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, “You mean like a date?”

Even in the dim lighting of the porch Bucky can see the flush that spreads across Steve’s cheeks, “Yeah, like a date.”

 

For a split second Bucky wants to tell Steve ‘no’. Not because he doesn’t want to go out with him, but because he feels guilty. Soon Steve’s going to die from causes not yet known. It may be a natural sickness that Steve catches, which would come as a surprise seeing how healthy and stocky he looks, or a sickness that the curse pushes onto him. Either way, he’s going to die and it’s going to be Bucky’s fault. 

That split second thought passes, though. He convinces himself it’s not wrong to date Steve because at least he’ll give Steve some good memories before he dies. Of course it won’t make up for the loss of a soul, or the mourning that’s going to come from all his friends, but it’s the least Bucky can do. 

“A date sounds nice,” Bucky says, “tell me the day and time, and I’m all yours.”

A smile stretches across Steve’s lips, “Okay, I’ll call your office.”

Bucky mirrors the smile, and takes a chance. He gently cups Steve’s face, loving the hitch of breath that comes from Steve, and softly rubs his finger against the upturn of Steve’s lips. He loves the warmth that comes from Steve’s face, the feeling of touching a human that he hasn’t had aside from a handshake in years. 

With one more swipe of his thumb across Steve’s lips Bucky drops his hand, “See you soon, Steve.”

He doesn’t wait for Steve to reply, just turns around and walks down the stairs to the sidewalk. He can feel Steve’s eyes on the him, the tingle in his hand from where Steve’s cheek was so warm, and smiles to himself for a moment. 

 

The smile slips away after a moment because he can also feel the restless ache in his bones. It’s almost midnight, and his body is ready to turn. He takes in a deep, shaky breath. 

Home is a couple blocks away, he can make it.

* * *

Bucky thought everything was going well. They’re three or so months into their relationship, there’s no expectations or communication problems, it’s perfect. He couldn’t imagine anything going wrong between him and Steve, until Steve got the sniffles. 

And Bucky’s heart and stomach sink at the same time.

“It’s just allergies,” Steve brushes it off, wiping his nose with a tissue, “I get them all the time.”

“But it’s summer,” Bucky argues, gesturing to the beach in front of them, “and it’s not like there’s many pollinators by this beach.”

He doesn’t want to freak out and wants to badly to believe that Steve is just going through a bout of allergies, but he also knows Steve is cursed. Cursed to die of seemingly natural causes that usually start rolling in about six months after the beach incident. Bucky only knows this because he’s checked obituaries, and the pattern’s the same for all of them. 

First they see Bucky, then they start getting sick, their families claim they thought it was nothing more than a cold, and then they die. AKA: What’s happening to Steve.

Steve shrugs again, “It’s normal.”

He doesn’t want to come off as an overprotective boyfriend, but his hands are itching to press them against Steve’s forehead. 

“Can I at least get you some allergy meds?” Bucky asks instead, scratching the back of his head. 

Steve rolls his eyes, pushing Bucky with his shoulder, “I’ll be fine, Buck. This is normal, comes with the package.” Steve jokes.

Bucky chuckles, it’s forced because he knows what’s happening but he’s not about to concern Steve when he doesn’t even know what he’s going to do yet.

“Sandwich?” Steve asks, passing him a hoagie from the cooler.

“Sure,” Bucky says, taking it and hoping with every fiber of his being that it’s just allergies like Steve said.

* * *

“Steve I think you’re getting worse,” Bucky sighs, they’re laying in bed and Steve’s body is covered in a cold sweat. He rests his hand over Steve’s chest, feeling his fast heartbeat. 

“I’m fine, Buck.” Steve says, plopping a hand over his, “It’s just seasonal.”

Bucky wishes he had another arm to prop himself up on so he could look at Steve, “You’ve been saying that for the past two weeks.”

Steve rolls his eyes, “And it’s the truth, why won’t you believe me?”

Bucky bites his tongue. He wishes he could tell Steve, let Steve know why he’s suddenly so sick and why Bucky’s so worried. But he can’t, and for selfish reasons too. If he tells Steve now, without a way to get him out of this, he could lose him forever. 

“I’m just worried,” Bucky says instead, “and I don’t like you being sick.”

“Aw, Buck.” Steve sighs, pushing himself up so he’s leaning over Bucky, “Your doting is cute, it is, but I know my body and this is normal.”

Bucky searches Steve’s eyes, wanting to drown in the confident blue of them. He wishes he could believe Steve that this is normal, but he knows the timeline. He knows how long it takes before someone dies because of him. 

“Okay.” Bucky says, leaning up to touch his forehead to Steve’s, “Just go to the doctor if it gets worse?” He knows that won’t help Steve. No medication or medical professionals could, only magic, but he can’t exactly tell Steve that.

Steve smiles, pressing his lips to Bucky’s for a second, “I promise.”

Bucky files the kiss into the back of his mind. He may need to remember it again soon. 

“Now, how about we go see all the cute animals in your office?” Steve says, moving away and off the bed. 

“The only reason you’re dating me is for the animals, isn’t it?” Bucky jokes, watching as Steve searches his bedroom floor for a pair of jeans.

Steve grins back at him, “Why else would I?”

“Oh I don’t know,” Bucky says, getting up from the bed and walking over to Steve. He pulls him close by the hips, loving how he can look down into his eyes, “My ravishing good looks and skills in bed?”

Steve snorts, “I guess there’s that.”

Bucky mirrors the grin, staring down into Steve’s eyes. He forgets, just for a moment, that he’s the cause of Steve’s impending death and lives in the moment of being completely in love with Steve.

And there’s a new thought. 

_Love_.

“Guess I should find my pants, huh?” Bucky says instead of the large, too scary thought that just came to mind.

Steve pretends to think about it, “Yeah, as much as I’d love for you to walk out naked you’d probably get arrested and what good would that do?”

Bucky chuckles, peeling himself away from Steve’s body, “Pants it is.”

* * *

Bucky doesn’t know what to do. Steve’s allergies turned into a cold, and now a fever.

Bucky knows what it is, he knows what’s happening, and now there’s three voice messages on his phone from Sam asking him where the hell he is but he can’t answer them. He’s the one causing Steve’s pain, he’s the one that’ll be at fault when Steve dies. He needs to do _something_. 

“Hela! Loki!” Bucky yells to the night sky in his backyard. 

He’s pacing back and forth, wringing his hands. They’re both Gods, they have to know something he can do. 

Loki appears first. There’s glitter in his hair, his clothes disheveled, he was obviously at a club. Bucky would feel bad, but he has too much guilt for what’s happening to Steve to spare any for Loki.

Hela appears a second later. She’s in a long black dress, Fenris in hand, and a look of utter boredom on her face.

“Why did you summon me?” She asks, rolling her eyes.

“Why is she here?” Loki asks, brushing some glitter off his jacket.

Bucky stops pacing, flicking his eyes between the both of them, “I need your help.”

With a flick of his wrists, daggers are in Loki’s hands, “Who do I have to kill?”

Hela arches a brow, “I’m the Goddess of Death, if he’s asking anyone to kill someone it’s me.”

“I need you to save someone,” he tells them, “I need you to help me save someone I cursed.”

They both stop, staring at him with blank expressions. 

“The human you fell in love with?” Hela asks, there’s a gentleness to her voice Bucky’s never heard before. 

Bucky nods, “Yeah, I think he’s dying.” His heart aches just saying those words. Knowing Steve is sick in bed, knowing Sam and all Steve’s friends are concerned, knowing Steve is probably wondering where he’s at.

“You made a deal with fairies,” Loki says, “even though we’re Gods, I don’t know what there is we can do.”

“You can always remake the deal,” Hela says, she takes a step forward like she has a better idea, “offer them something better than you did before.”

Bucky scoffs, “Before was my soul, I don’t know anything better than that.”

“Two souls.” Hela says simply, “Yours and his.”

“No,” Bucky shakes his head, “I won’t put someone through that.” Being under the control of a fairy is the worst possible fate someone could have. Sure he’s lived forever, but now every night he has to go out and wait for someone stumble upon the beach. At the time it was worth it, though. Anything was worth saving his sister, but he can’t save Steve by promising their souls to fairies. Steve’s better off dead if that’s the case.

“Me,” Loki says simply, “I am the Trickster God, I have been on this planet since before the fae could claim any woodland as their own. I know their creator, and know their magic better than they do. I could trick them.”

Bucky eyes Loki, unease rolling like waves in his stomach, “You’re saying I offer them both of our souls? And you’ll trick them out of their games?” He knows Loki is powerful, all knowing, a being so much greater than Bucky can imagine, but still. Fairies are known for their tricks, and they’re known to trick people with an easy task that’s actually impossible.

His was finding a perfect sand dollar. Still alive, still whole, on the shore of the beach. He looked and looked, every day until he was so old he couldn’t walk anymore, but he couldn’t find one. They were all either dead or just out of reach in the water, not even close enough at low tide for them to be considered on the shore. It was torture, and even worse when Becca died before him. 

“This could work,” Hela nods, “the fae can try with all their might to take over a God’s soul, and Loki’s will be the most tempting, but there’s no way for them to curse us like they can a human.”

“Then why would they go for it?” Bucky asks, crossing his arms. He’s starting to get antsy, it’s almost midnight and his bones know it.

“Because they can’t resist an offer as good as my soul,” Loki grins, it’s sharp and deadly, never the kind Bucky’s been on the other side of “Imagine the bragging rights they would have? The fae that cursed Loki’s soul?”

“And we’re sure they can’t somehow curse you?” Bucky looks between the both of them. He doesn’t want to subject anyone to what he went through, but he also wants to save Steve.

“I’m sure,” Loki says, “and we may be able to relieve you of their curse.”

Bucky almost chokes on his spit, “What?”

Loki nods, still grinning, “The deal we make will be for Steve’s life and your soul. Once we finish whatever task they have us do your soul will be your own again.”

Bucky’s top priority is saving Steve, but the idea that he could be himself again. Be able to walk the beaches and not have someone die because of him? That sounds like a dream come true. 

“I’m in,” Bucky says, “let’s do this.”

* * *

They don’t wait for him to go through his shift, instead jump straight into going to the fairy world. 

“The fae established their world when I was only a few millennia old,” Loki says, doing something with his hands that looks like magic, “I’ve walked this earth, and other planets long before they were even a speck in the scheme of things.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, “So you’re an old fart?”

“No,” Loki says, stopping to look up at him, “it means I’m much more powerful than they are. Nothing they can do will bring harm to me.”

“Me, on the other hand, they can completely screw with.”

Loki shrugs, “Essentially.”

Bucky rolls his eyes and looks up at the moon as he waits for Loki to do whatever it is he’s doing. Like before, he can feel how close to midnight it is. His bones ache and pull to be in his dog form, to be near the ocean, but he can’t tonight. 

Tonight he needs to try and save Steve, tonight he needs to try and save _himself_.

“Are you ready?” Loki asks, his hands are glowing green with white specks floating around. It looks like a small galaxy in Loki’s hands and Bucky can’t help but be drawn to it. 

“Yeah,” He says, trying to blink out of the trance he’s in, “I am.”

“Don’t say anything, don’t eat anything, just follow my lead.” Loki says, his voice serious.

Bucky nods once, “The last time I fucked with fairies I ended up like this, that’s not something I want to happen again.”

“Good,” Loki nods, “now hold on to me.”

Bucky walks over to Loki and grasps his shoulder, “Let’s go.”

* * *

Teleporting is always a weird experience. 

He’s only done it a handful of times, and only with Loki. All the times he’s done it, though, he’s gone to a human realm. Never once has he teleported somewhere made for only magical creatures, and the difference is astounding. 

When they touch down in the fair world Bucky feels like his equilibrium is completely thrown off. He stumbles off of Loki’s shoulder, and manages not to faceplant only by Loki grabbing onto a belt loop of his pants and pulling back. 

“Take a breath,” Loki says, “gather yourself before they see you.”

Bucky nods, hunched over with a hand on his knee for balance. He takes in a handful of deep inhales and exhales, before pushing himself upright, “Ready.”

Loki looks him over, as if worried he’s going to collapse, before nodding, “Follow me.”

The fairy world is just like Bucky remembers. Lush a green, foliage that’s so healthy each breath is like taking in pure oxygen. There’s low hanging fruit and berries on every bush. Things twinkle beyond the trees, and something’s playing a peaceful flute nearby. 

He can’t help but want to fall trap to every ploy. All the fruit and berries look great, each well of water they pass makes him thirstier, and he wants to hunt through the trees for whoever’s playing the music. 

“This doesn’t affect you?” Bucky asks Loki quietly, trying to keep his eyes on the path ahead rather than everything else behind them.

Loki shakes his head, “Not at all, you’re a young creature so your urges are still weak.”

That doesn’t surprise him. He’s got hundreds of years under his belt, but he still decides to fall for a person he cursed. What an idiot. 

Bucky doesn’t keep track of how long they walk for, but eventually Loki stops.

They’re at a large gate made of tree branches and vines wrapped around them. Like everywhere else, there’s lush berries sprouting along the vines and fruit along the branches. 

Loki takes a step forward, tapping his knuckles against the bark before moving back next to Bucky.

“Remember,” Loki says, staring at the gate, “don’t say anything, just follow my lead.”

Bucky just nods. While all the fruit, water, and music is enticing he will always have a deep fear of the fairies. They might not be as powerful as Loki, but they have enough magic to really screw up someone’s life. Take him for example, they made him into a death omen beast and all because he wanted to save his sister.

The gate opens slowly, revealing three thrones made of foliage with the fairies who did this to him sitting atop them.

Everything in his body tells him to turn back and go home. He can feel deep in his gut the powerful, grey-area magic they have. Loki, probably feeling the anxiety radiating off him, rests a hand against his elbow. He sighs into the touch, trusting Loki so completely it scares him, and follows him towards the fairies. 

“Look who came to join us!” One of the fairies says, clapping his hands together, “Loki, The Trickster God!”

Loki grins at them, and bows, “Thank you for welcoming me.”

Bucky follows suit, bowing with Loki and raising when he does.

“And you,” the same fairy says, “Bucky! Our loyal Shuck, so nice of you to visit us again.”

Bucky gives them a close lipped smile, “Pleasure is mine.”

“So,” the other fairy says, her eyes almost glowing a bright orange, “to what do we owe the pleasure of a God and a Shuck?”

“I’m glad you asked,” Loki says, bringing his hands together, “I would like to make a deal.”

Bucky stays completely still as Loki speaks, averting his eyes every time a fairy meets them. 

“My soul,” Loki begins, grinning, “in exchange for Bucky’s and anyone he’s currently cursed.”

The fairies exchange a glance, “If you fail we get to take all of your souls.” She says, leaving no room for questions or negotiating.

Loki’s grin widens, “Of course, so long as our side of the deal is assured.”

“The task will be the same,” The male elf says, staring right a Bucky, “retrieve a living sand dollar from the shore of the beach.”

“Time constraints?” Loki asks, obviously in the know of how these sorts of transactions work. 

“Until the beginning of the new year, if you haven’t given us a sand dollar by January first then all souls are ours.”

Bucky wants to ask if he can see the fine print. He wants to know what the catch is, and why they’re so willing gamble with a god’s soul. Everyone here is well aware they won’t ever be able to take Loki’s soul, yet somehow they’re willing to play along anyways. Maybe they think there’s more than one cursed human soul on the line, or maybe they notice how bright Steve’s is and want to sink their nails into it. Either way, Bucky holds his tongue and follows Loki’s lead in bowing.

“Thank you,” Loki says, head still bowed, “you will be seeing us again soon.”

The male fairy waves his hand, motioning for them to rise, “Doubtful, but the optimism is always nice.”

Loki just grins in response, and Bucky continues to both physically and mentally bite his tongue. 

With a spin on his heel, Loki walks away from the fairies and it takes Bucky a moment before following suit.

He can feel the pull from the fairies’ magic on his soul. He wants to turn around, almost craves interaction with them. He shakes his head, and turns around to catch up with Loki. He sums the craving up to an effect of them being the creatures that gave him magic, rather than his soul actually wanting to stay with them. 

“Let’s go,” Loki says, stopping abruptly in the middle of the forest. Loki motions to his shoulder with his eyes, and Bucky sighs.

With a strong clamp of his hand against Loki’s shoulder, Bucky braces himself for the teleport.

He stumbles when the touch land, managing to shove a hand out before he hits the wall. The familiar sight of his bedroom carpet greets him when he opens his eyes. He groans as he feels this universe settle around him, his stomach flopping back into humanity’s equilibrium.

“Please don’t barf,” Loki says, not out of concern but disgust. 

Bucky rolls his eyes, taking another moment to breathe, “I can’t believe that worked.”

Loki sighs, flipping his hair before plopping down on Bucky’s bed, “As I said before they couldn’t resist the temptation of my soul.”

“And all we need to find is a perfect sandollar on the shore of a beach, just like before.” He remembers the search, the taunting of a shell just in the water, and how much it pained him to show up to the fairies empty handed day after day. Now he has a chance to actually have his soul again, to live and die like a human, and nothing more excites him. Steve’s health is set in stone, he should be getting better within a couple days, now his soul’s on the line and he’s going to do everything he can to get it back.

“I’ll do what I can in looking for a shell, but I have no doubt we’ll be able to find one.”

Bucky nods, and stumbles over to his bed, throwing himself down beside Loki, “I need to tell Steve what happened.”

“Why?” Loki asks, and Bucky doesn’t have to look at his face to hear the raised eyebrows.

“Because he deserves to know.” Bucky begins, it’s a no-duh kind of answer, but maybe he has a different perspective being a former human and all, “I can’t live my life having almost killed him and he not know what happened.” Even if he loses Steve in the process, which is highly likely, it’ll make him feel better if Steve knows the truth. 

“You have your own morals and I have mine,” Loki sighs, getting up from the bed, “Now I will be in Ibiza, not only looking for the shell but enjoying their night scene. Only call if it’s important.”

It’s then Bucky noticed that there’s sun pouring between his blinds, and his stomach drops. He missed another day of calling Steve.

Bucky shakes off the thought and pushes himself up with one arm, “Thanks, again for fake selling your soul.”

Loki chuckles, probably at the thought of ever entirely selling his soul, “Anytime.”

With that Loki is gone, and his house is quiet. 

Bucky sighs, patting down his pockets until he feels the familiar shape of his phone. He pulls it out and turns it on, watching as the keys light up and the screen comes to life with little red numbers letting him know how many missed calls he’s had. Ignoring them, he opens a new text to America. He’s not going to make it into work today, no today he needs to go see Steve and tell him the truth.

First, though, he needs to sleep. With a groan he kicks his shoes off and lifts his legs up on the bed. For a moment, with his eyes closed and the sound of silence washing over him, he could almost pretend none of this happened. He could just be regular Bucky, and Steve could just have a seasonal cold. There’d be no fairies, no magic, at least not to his knowledge. Sand dollars could just be a random type of shell, and everything would be fine.

But that’s not his life, and he needs to finally face that.

With another sigh, Bucky decides that those are thoughts for when he’s awake and lets himself fall into a peaceful sleep.

* * *

By the time Bucky gets to Steve’s it’s sundown.

He quietly lets himself into the b&b with butterflies eating at his stomach. He’s able to bypass the living room and kitchen, heading right up the stairs to the bedrooms. The sound of the floor creaking breaks the silence as he walks down the hall. The sounds of talking and the TV downstairs don’t following him up, instead only the weight of his body on the floor is with him. 

Bucky knocks on Steve’s door once, and doesn’t bother to wait for a response when he opens it. 

The room is dark and stuffy. There’s a pile of blankets on the bed with Steve under them and Ella’s perched at the end of the bed. She doesn’t move when he walks in, but she doesn’t bark at him either so he crosses the room until he’s at the side of Steve’s bed. 

“What do you want, Sam?” Steve’s voice is scratchy and muffled from under the covers. It breaks Bucky’s heart, but he just needs to keep reminding himself that the sickness will pass soon. Not only that, soon they’ll find a sand dollar and release the curse tied to them.

“Not Sam,” Bucky says, kicking his shoes off to get behind Steve. He moves so his back is flush with Steve’s with his arm around Steve’s waist. He presses his forehead to the back of Steve’s clammy neck, and sighs, “sorry I haven’t been by.”

Ella jumps off the bed, her claws tapping against the floor as she leaves to give them privacy. Bucky could almost thank her.

Steve sniffs, and relaxed into Bucky’s hold, “Got any excuses?”

Bucky chuckles, it’s partially self deprecating and partially out of amusement at Steve’s response, “Kinda,” he replies honestly, “but it’s a long story.”

“I got all day,” Steve says, rolling himself over so they’re nose to nose, “not like I have something to do other than bedrest.”

“I’m surprised you’re even doing that.” Bucky snorts, “Remember when I tried giving you some pills for your cold and you conveniently forgot to take them?”

Steve rolls his eyes, “Well I feel like death twice over, so bed rest is unfortunately a must.”

Bucky sighs, pressing his forehead to Steve’s, “I’m sorry.”

“For?” Steve asks quietly, pulling Bucky closer under the blankets.

“For not being here sooner,” He begins, and with another breath, “for you having to go through this.”

Steve snorts, “You can’t blame yourself for me catching some crazy cold.”

Bucky lets himself relish in the feel of Steve. The way Steve’s thumb rubs circles into his skin, the way Steve’s own clammy stomach feels against Bucky’s hand. He doesn’t know what Steve’s reaction’s going to be, but either way Bucky’s going to fix this. Even if Steve decides to push him away and never speak to him again, he’s going to find that sand dollar and change both of their fate. 

“But I can,” he says, his voice quiet, “you’re sick because of me, Steve.”

Steve frowns, his eyebrows dipping, “What?”

“You remember the story about the dog that walks along the beach and curses people?” He pushes aside the butterflies and fear, and instead decides to be honest.

Steve is quiet for a moment before speaking, “Yeah, what about it?”

“I am the creature.”

Steve pulls away, propping himself up on one shoulder, “Bucky, how could you possibly be that creature? It’s just a myth people are here tell.”

He doesn’t tell Steve how he became a Shuck, doesn’t bother going through what led him up to it, because that doesn’t matter right now. He sighs, rolling onto his back, “You tried giving me an apple.”

Steve frowns, “How do you know that?”

“You stuck your hand into a pocket and shoved a granny smith apple at my face because you thought I was a horse.” He keeps his gaze on the ceiling, not bothering to read the thoughts and emotions passing over Steve’s face.

“I haven’t told anyone that, how--”

“Because that was me.”

Steve falls silent, and Bucky stays on his back looking up at the ceiling fan. 

“I need time to process.” Steve finally says after moments of silence pass.

Bucky nods once and pushes himself up to a sitting position. He swings his legs over the side of the bed, pulling his shoes on, “If you don’t want to speak to me ever again,” Bucky begins, a lump in his throat forming, “know that I’m fixing what happened and you’re not dying anymore”

He doesn’t wait for Steve to reply, just quickly gets up from the bed and leaves the room. 

Like before, there’s nobody in the hallway to stop him. 

His heart aches as he leaves the b&b, but he needed to tell the truth. Even if that meant losing Steve.

* * *

The temperature at night is steadily dropping making the sand frozen to the touch of his paws. He always hates being a shuck during the winter months. No matter how long he’s done this, and how many different winters he’s braved, every winter feels like the first one all over again. From icy breezes off the ocean into his fur, to the ache of his exposed nose, everything about it is horrible. The only thing he has going for him is less and less people take walks on the beach at night passed sundown. 

Bucky continues his slow trot, thankful it’s almost sunrise, when he picks up the sound of feet on sand. It’s on the opposite side of beach he’s on, and he almost rolls his eyes because some damn human is going to ruin his commute home. 

He turns around with a huff, the air misting in front of him, and makes his way to the poor soul he’s going to curse tonight. Per usual, as he nears the human fog begins to appear around his body. It’s all dramatics, with no practical use, but there’s nothing he can do about it. 

He can hear the person stop, their heart beat staying oddly steady, before walking towards him. Bucky’s confused for a moment, no human has ever stayed calm during their encounter with him, and then the human steps into the moonlight. 

Steve. 

Immediately Bucky notices how much better he looks. From how tall he’s standing, to the lack of dark circles under his eyes, all signs point to Steve no longer being on the edge of death. The sight of Steve alone lets Bucky sigh out tension he was apparently holding in. It lets Bucky know that not matter what happens between them now or in the future, letting Steve know the truth and risking his soul once more was completely worth it. 

“Hey, Buck,” Steve says with a small smile on his lips, “had a hunch I’d find you here.”

Bucky can’t say anything in response. He can only make dog sounds which he very much doubts that Steve will understand, so he just huffs and motions with his head for Steve to follow him. 

They turn around and walk back down the beach, heading toward Bucky’s house. 

“I needed time to think,” Steve begins, resting a hand on Bucky’s shoulder blade, “I won’t lie I was upset at first. The idea that I was going to die with no way out, and the fact that you of all people were the one to put me in that position hurt me.”

If Bucky could talk he’d be saying sorry. Apologizing as many times as he could before Steve shut him up. But he can’t talk, and maybe that’s for the better because now Steve gets the chance.

“And then I realized, through research and alcohol, that you were also put into this position. For some reason you decided something was important enough to sell your soul for and you ended up as this.”

Bucky sighs, and lets himself lean into Steve’s warm hand. His sister was important enough, and if he had to go back and redo everything he’d sell his soul for her again and again.

“It’s not like you’re not trying to atone for all this,” Steve continues, running his fingers from Bucky’s shoulder to neck and back, “you help animals every single day, which is a lot more than some people can say they do.”

He’s never seen taking care of animals as a way to atone for all the lives he’s taken. Rather, it’s just been something he’s good at and enjoys. If he’s going to spend his evenings cursing people and hating every moment of it, then he wants to spend his day light hours curing and helping pure creatures that mean no harm.

“And so I forgive you.”

Bucky’s heart skips a beat. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t that. He looks over at Steve and tries to push any emotion he’s feeling into his eyes. He really wishes he could speak right now, but gazing longingly, _lovingly_ , at Steve is all he can do.

Steve, in return, gives him a gentle smile and continues walking alongside him.

* * *

The sun is shining through the crack in his blackout blinds when they get back to his house. His body aches, he’s tired, and all he wants right now is to cuddle up with Steve and sleep until tomorrow. But life, as usual, is unfair. 

“I owe you an explanation,” Bucky says once they’re in the kitchen, he grabs the empty kettle to give his hand something to do, “about everything.”

Steve sighs, sitting down at the kitchen table, “You don’t owe me anything.”

Bucky lets out a self deprecating laugh, “Steve, I owe you so much and more than I could ever repay you.” 

He sets the kettle in the sink and turns on the faucet, watching the water fill up the metal container, “I sold my soul to faries when I was in my early twenties.”

“There was a fire,” he begins, remembering the hot flames and smoke, “on my family’s farm and my sister and I were trapped.” Part of the barn roof had caved in on top of them, even though it was a simple structure the wood was still heavy and the fire still burned, “I was able to drag myself and my sister out, but her burns were bad.”

Bucky takes a moment, picking up the kettle and setting it on the stove, “Medicine centuries ago wasn’t anything like medicine from today. So what a lesser burn unit could have taken care of now, the entire hospital didn’t even know how to treat then. And she was my baby sister,” he says with a shrug, finally looking up at Steve, “how could I let her die?”

“My mom had always told me about the fae folk, and she stressed to never trust them, but they were my only chance. My soul for her life were my only conditions, and they sweetened the pot.” He purses his lips, still frustrated at his past deal with the fairies, “If I found a sand dollar, still alive, on the shore of the beach I would get my soul back but if I don’t I do their bidding.”

“But you couldn’t find that could you.” Steve doesn’t ask, it’s not question, it’s a statement.

Bucky nods, watching the steam leave the kettle, “I could never find it, so not only was my soul theirs, it was theirs to do whatever they wanted with. They decided I should walk the beach from midnight to sunrise, curse anyone that I met eyes with, and six months to a year later that person would die some unassuming death.”

He takes the kettle off the burner before it starts screaming, and begins assembling cups of coffee. 

“Oh, Buck.” Steve says from the table. 

Bucky hears the chair scrape against the wooden floor and Steve’s feet crossing the room to him. Steve gently hugs him from behind, placing his forehead on Bucky’s neck, “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not like I didn’t ask for this,” Bucky shrugs, “I got my own dumb ass in this situation, if you feel bad for anyone it should be the people the die because of me.”

“You were trying to do good, I don’t fault you for that.”

Steve’s breath is warm on his neck and he can’t help but give in, “Just sucks people have to die because of me.” He scoops a lump of coffee out of the tin and into one of the cups, “But I have another chance to make this right.”

“What do you have to do?”

He stirs the coffee grounds around the cup, watching as the water goes from murky to completely brown, “Same as before, find a live sand dollar on the shore of the beach. I have help this time, which makes all the difference.”

Steve adjusts his face on Bucky’s neck, “You’ll have me, too.”

Bucky stops stirring, the spoon still in his hand. He turns around in Steve’s arms to face him, trying to read whatever is going on behind Steve’s eyes, “You don’t have to, not after I almost killed you.”

Steve gives him a small smile, it’s heartbreaking, “But I want to, because I care. You’re not happy like this, no matter if you were the one to consent to it.”

Bucky’s soul aches having to go out every night and potentially curse someone with death. Before becoming a Shuck he never understood why there were so many stories of immortals hating their undying life. He always thought they had it good, but just didn’t know it. Now, though, he completely understands. People like Loki and Hela who exist with people that live just as long as they do, that see humans as playthings, don’t understand. His friends, family, people he sees on his daily commute, they’re all humans with a finite amount of time on this planet. Watching them age and die hurts his soul almost as much as the people he curses. 

“Imagine if you didn’t have to go through this,” Steve says quietly, “If you could just live your life like a normal human instead of doing someone else’s bidding. Imagine how much better your life would be.”

He can see it, too. Sleeping through the night, walking on the beach like it’s an old friend and not the setting of his misery, no turning into a dog or death. It all sounds perfect. 

“I can imagine it,” Steve smiles, “and it sounds like a nice way to live.”

“And a good way to die.” Bucky finishes, the prospect of death no longer something to fear in his eyes. 

“And a good way to die.” Steve echos.

* * *

“So, where do we start?” Steve asks, hands on his hips.

Bucky raises an eyebrow, taking a sip of his coffee, “Little eager there aren’t you?”

Steve shrugs, “Don’t want to waste any time.”

Bucky understands, and agrees, but he also just finished his designated Shuck time and would rather be curled up in his bed by now. He sets his coffee down on the kitchen table and looks up at the ceiling, “Loki!”

Steve jumps at the sudden yell, “What was--”

In a flash of green Loki appears in front of them. He’s dressed in linen shorts, and a light blue button down, “This better be important, I was enjoying the beaches of Santorini.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, motioning with his head to Steve, “Loki, meet Steve.”

Loki grins and takes a step closer to Steve, “I can see why you’d want to save his soul.”

Steve, for all the years he served in the army, looks like he just saw a ghost. He opens and closes his mouth a couple times, before spitting out “How did you get here?”

“I’m a god, and with that comes godly powers.”

“A god.” Steve repeats.

“Of tricks and mischief.” Loki finishes, before stepping back, decidedly done with Steve. He moves around the kitchen until he’s situated himself against one of the counters, “Now what did you need.”

Bucky looks over at Steve and decides to let the man process in peace, before answering Loki, “Steve’s on board with helping us, so what’s the plan.”

Loki raises an eyebrow, “Since when was I supposed to make the plan.”

“You made the plan for visiting the fairies, and aren’t you all knowing or something?” Bucky asks, taking a sip from his coffee. He’s not really interested in planning out how to get his soul back. He tried before and it was a waste of energy.

Loki nods, taking the compliment, “We could begin by figuring out where holds the largest population of sand dollars, I’ll keep an eye on the beach and come get you when I see one.”

He never thought of doing something like that, but it sounds solid, much better than the nothingness he had floating around in his brain anyways. “I can grab my laptop and Google it, someone on the internet has to have written something about sand dollar demographics.” He’s about to get up, his butt halfway off the chair when Steve speaks.

“I think you’re over complicating this.” He flicks his eyes between Bucky and Loki, “What exactly was the task?”

Bucky gives the abridged version, rather than the long and winding version the fairies used back when he first sold them his soul, “Gather a sand dollar from the shore of a beach, make sure it’s alive.”

“Why don’t you,” Steve motions to Loki, “get an alive sand dollar from a beach, teleport it to the beach here, and set it on the shore where Bucky will find it. Unless there’s some fine print to read I think that will work.”

Bucky glances over at Loki, noting the impressed expression on his face, “I never thought about something like that.”

Steve shrugs a shoulder, “Sometimes all it takes is a different perspective.”

“Well then,” Loki says, clapping his hands together, “let’s get this over with, shall we?”

Bucky grins, butterflies in his stomach at the prospect of being free from the binds of fairy magic, “Let’s get this over with.”

* * *

Getting the sand dollar feels like a relay race. Bucky’s with Steve on a secluded part of the beach while they wait for Loki to come back with a shell. He’s not sure if this plan will work, but at this point there’s nothing left to lose. 

“Where’s Ella?” Bucky asks Steve, trying to ignore the butterflies in his stomach. 

“With Sam and everyone at the house,” Steve says with a shrug, his hands deep in his hoodie’s pockets, “I let him know I was going for a walk and would probably end up at yours.”

“Did you tell Sam about, you know, _me_?” 

Steve shakes his head, “It wasn’t my secret to tell.”

Relief washes over Bucky. He didn’t realize how concerned he was about Steve telling Sam, but he’s glad it’s not something he has to worry about now. If Steve had told Sam, though, Bucky doesn’t think he’d be upset. He has no right to be upset, not with what he did to Steve.

“Thank you,” Bucky replies quietly, a few pitches above the sound of waves crashing into the sand. 

Steve just shifts closer, gently pressing against Bucky’s side with his elbow. Bucky sighs into Steve’s warmth and hopes that he can get a lifetime worth of these moments.

With a flash of green Loki is ankle deep in water, holding a sand dollar just underneath it, “I don’t know the life span of these, so you better hurry up.”

Bucky quickly pulls himself together, and regretfully pulls away from Steve. He quickly walks over to where Loki’s kneeling in the water and takes in a deep breath, “Drop it, let’s go.”

Loki slowly sets the sand dollar down on the shore and takes a step back. Bucky takes in a deep breath, wiggling the fingers of his hand, and picks up the sand dollar. He looks up at Loki, then back to Steve. 

“Steve, go back home or to my house. I have to visit the fairies again.” It feels like saying goodbye, like he’s preparing Steve for a return that may not happen. From the look of Steve’s face, he knows the man agrees. 

Steve doesn’t say anything, just takes one hand out of his hoodie and gives Bucky a small wave before taking a step back and turning on his heel. 

Bucky looks back at Loki, “You ready?”

Loki raises an eyebrow, “The fairies have no effect on me. Are _you_ ready?”

Looking down at the sand dollar in his hand Bucky shrugs, “No, but the sooner we get this over with the better.”

Loki nods, and like before grasps one of Bucky’s shoulders before pulling him out of this dimension.

They manage to appear directly before the large gate they had to walk to last time. Bucky’s heart is beating quickly, butterflies fluttering in his chest, because he can’t believe this is happening. He’s been a shuck for centuries, and after this moment he’ll be human again. It’s an odd thought, and he’ll miss being able to communicate with the animals at this clinic, but beside that being human is what he’s craved for the longest time. 

The gate opens without prompting, making Bucky jump. 

“They’re expecting us,” Loki says, looking up at the gate, “just like last time: follow my lead.”

Bucky stays a step behind Loki, holding the damp sand dollar in hand. 

“We see you’ve completed our task!” The male fairy says, clapping his hands together, “What a turn of events.”

Loki lowers his head in a bow before taking a step closer to the fairies, “Per the deal we made, everyone gains their soul back?”

 

“Of course,“ the female fairy says, “we do not go back on our word.”

“But,” the male pipes in, “we will give you, Bucky, the option of being immortal without being a Shuck.”

Bucky doesn’t even have to think about it. He knows why people in stories and movies regret being immortal, what it does to the mind and soul, so he shakes his head, “Thanks for the offer, but I’m good.”

The fairy frowns, his lips twisting, “So be it, but you will regret not choosing this path when you lay, decaying, on your deathbed.”

Bucky’s been ready for death since the day all his immediate family left this realm. He knows what death looks like, and what waits for him after, so he’s prepared for it.

The fairy gets up from his throne, walking over to Bucky until he stands in front of him, “You got me my sand dollar, you completed the task.” The fairy raises his hand, “And now you’re released.”

With the touch of two cold fingers on his forehead Bucky feels his body slump and the world around him turn to black.

* * *

Bucky wakes slowly, thinking it’s just a normal morning, before shooting straight up at the memory of what happened. 

“Hey,” Steve greets from the chair beside Bucky’s bed, “you’re awake.”

Bucky touches his chest with one hand, as if he could feel the lack of immortality in his soul, “It worked.”

Steve smiles, getting up from the chair to sit next to Bucky, “It did. Loki told me they released you from your curse and that you should be human again.”

“I’m human,” Bucky says to himself before looking up at Steve, “I’m human.”

Steve smiles, this time wider, “You are.”

Bucky cups Steve’s face with his hand and leans in for a kiss. It’s short, but warm and inviting. He rests his forehead against Steve’s and sighs, “Now I can properly spend the night at yours, and not stress about you dying soon.”

Steve chuckles, “The idea of you spending the night at my place, in my bed, is one I’m very much on board with.”

“Let’s make it happen tonight then.” Bucky grins, pulling Steve down by the neck, “But how about we celebrate my newly rediscovered humanity?”

Steve presses a kiss to his lips and neck, “Lets.”

* * *

Children will always hear about the Shuck. It becomes a story that parents tell for decades to come. 

One that lingers with a question: what happened to him?

Some say he moved on to a different beach, others claim he was poached after the wrong person was killed. 

Both are rumors as the Shuck ceased his existence as an immortal and reunited with his humanity. 

Despite this, one should always remember: walking on the beach after midnight may result in the loss of a soul, and always _always_ fear the fae.

**Author's Note:**

> [My Tumblr!](http://sorrowingsoldier.tumblr.com/)
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> [SgtGraves' Art Post](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16476929)
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> [Brooklyn-Bisexual's Art Post](http://brooklyn-bisexual.tumblr.com/post/179620740592/black-shuck-bucky-second-artwork-for-the)


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